


Bring Him Home

by Matloc



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, a charadeath with a mildly happy ending, at times - Freeform, laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matloc/pseuds/Matloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, wishing can cost you an eternity greater than your life's worth.</p><p>(or, Seijuurou has always been one for long-term investments.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Him Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arachnophobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnophobia/gifts).



> first gift for the year ofc goes to the very first bro i made in this fandom

He is thirteen when you first meet him. Baby-cheeked and stars in his eyes, tiptoeing up the tender first steps of adolescence. You join him, on the opening ceremony of Teikou Middle, under a blanket of cherry blossoms sprinkling your sweet, little heads with big, rose-colored dreams.

You can tell he's just started getting used to people, when he bows to you with habituated ease but offers little else. With your own practised set of etiquettes you show him a friendly smile, and his facial muscles finally seem to relax. Before you know it he’s returning what you gave him, slanting his mouth. Adds to what you gave by offering you a shy hand.

You are thirteen years old the first time you make a friend.

+

He is fifteen when he starts calling you by your first name. _Seijuurou-kun_ , a 4-syllabled blessing hanging sweetly from his lips. You’ve always liked that about _“Tetsuya,”_ you greet, appreciating the soft edges of his voice. It’s one of the rarer qualities you slave to find in people, a voice that soothes the nerves, quiet but steady, a sleeping ocean. You could soak in this alone every day.

A thought occurs to you then, that there’s no need to look for in others what Tetsuya gives to you on his very breath. You let the thought settle in you, let it stew in your head. You let it change you.

You are fifteen years old when he calls you Seijuurou for the first time, and the skies are shining exceptionally bright that day.

+

He is seventeen when you come back from abroad. He greets you clad in a black gakuran, and you think the uniform suits him. How it sits on his shoulders, how it shapes his arms and torso. It doesn’t hang, like how you remember the Teikou blazer almost engulfing his small form as though he wasn’t meant to bear its prestigious weight.

He’s grown now, the adam’s apple in his neck bobbing slowly with every word, as he welcomes you back.

But so have you. So has your mind, your attitude, your _desires_. (Your eyes have a hard time leaving that well-developed arch along his throat.)

You are seventeen when you realize absence does make the heart grow fonder.

+

He is eighteen and only halfheartedly looking forward to graduating when you come up to him and strike up a deal.

If he was still the starry-eyed boy from your middle school years, he might have instantly run away out of sheer surprise at what you just said. But now it’s different, his bangs are longer and make you want to brush them away as he looks up at you, a vibrant sky dressing his eyes bright. It’s different because now he gives you a smile, conflicting between amusement and pity, as he says, “Seijuurou-kun doesn’t need to turn a confession into a business deal.”

You blush, probably—you feel the heat rush to your cheeks while vestigial airs left from a winter’s parting still nip your skin. But you don’t apologize; after all, he doesn’t turn you down.

You are eighteen years old, preparing to take over your father’s chair, when you list Tetsuya all the benefits of dating someone like Akashi Seijuurou. (And he has to stop you from talking because the list seems to go on forever.)

+

He is close to turning twenty-two when you’re both walking down a crowded plaza, wearing matching bands on your fingers to reflect a morning diamond in the sky. You hear the screech of tires before he does, so it’s you who’s pushing him out of the way. Your very last thought is _did I feed Nigou today?_

You are twenty-two years old when time freezes on your fingers, for the first and last time in your life you hear God talking to you. “I have a greater purpose for you.”

You never believed in God.

“If you come with me now, I shall grant you just one wish.”

But you never turn down bets if the stakes are high enough.

+

Time stops ticking for you. Spending an eternity in a world not governed by the wiles of time makes you stop caring about numbers: years, age, how much has been wasted. How much is left, however? Another eternity.

But Tetsuya looks like he’s aged far too quickly, as he stands over your grave wearing depressing multitudes of black—it’s always been a nostalgic color, you think, because it still suits him nicely. There’s a procession of black behind him as well, dispersing quickly enough in apathetic droves to get back to work. You can tell for you once left with that very thought after watching your father being lowered into the dirt.

Time will never move for you but you know today is the day your wish will come true, because when he turns around on reluctant feet, you reach down from the skies and feel life pulse hotly against your palm as it wraps around his wrist.

He is barely twenty-two when you whisk Kuroko Tetsuya away from the world and drag him into your own.

 


End file.
